


Like the colours in Autumn, so bright

by TaleWeaver



Series: jonsa halloween [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (not sure which one), Alternate Universe - High School/College, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, jonsa in the 'you're so hot and I want to have sex with you all the time' stage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27209293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleWeaver/pseuds/TaleWeaver
Summary: When he looked back later, the thing Jon remembered most clearly about that first season of loving Sansa was the colours.Written for @jonsa-halloween day two: colours
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: jonsa halloween [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985888
Comments: 7
Kudos: 66





	Like the colours in Autumn, so bright

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the lyrics of ‘Red’ by Taylor Swift.  
> Mr Mollen and his pumpkin patch are taken from the canonical House Mollen.  
> Headcanon note: I mention the ‘House Stark’ tartan here; I know the North is based on Scotland, and in my mind one of the many, many accomplishments of Queen Sansa the Glorious (inspired by Elizabeth I’s nickname of ‘Gloriana’) is the invention of tartan. The smoke grey is the same as the canon house banners, the twilight blue is the colour of the ‘Wolf Bit’ dress, and the snow white is for obvious reasons.

For Jonsa Halloween 2020 Day Two: ~~Drink me OR~~ Colours. Somewhat inspired by [this lovely comic strip](https://nessataleweaver.tumblr.com/post/631860647221673985/yomikoreadsbooks-arandomthot-humpty-dumptys). I’m an occasionally twisted woman.

Given his name, you’d think that Jon Snow would love winter best. But no, autumn was his favourite time of the year. For someone who mostly dressed in various combinations of black, grey, white and more black, it was a surprise to some that he was endlessly captivated by the blazing colours of the harvest.

When he looked back later, the thing he remembered most clearly about the first season of loving Sansa was the colours.

He remembered the deep blood red of weirwood leaves, and the bone-white bark; the far-reaching branches, still thick with foliage, had sheltered them from the rain. Both of them weak in the knees from their maelstrom of kisses, as they’d tumbled into a nest of already-fallen leaves, the blood red highlighted with gold from the few oak leaves drifting there on the storm winds. They hadn’t been able to undress completely, but Jon had opened his jacket and shirt and Sansa had unbuttoned her long peacock-blue coat and blouse and pulled up her camisole, so their bare chests could press together as his hips rocked and bucked frantically between her thighs as they made love for the first time.

He remembered when Rickon had insisted on camping out in Mr Mollen’s pumpkin patch on the Autumn Equinox to see if the Great Pumpkin really might come, and Jon and Sansa had lost the draw to go stumbling through the lanes of vegetables in the pre-dawn twilight to bring him home. The sky had lightened from navy to deep blue by the time they’d reached the crop of ridiculously large pumpkins, and with half an ear for Rickon’s snoring, Jon had bent Sansa over the giant pumpkin that would soon become the all-time record-holder for the Winterfell City Harvest Fair. He’d flipped up her twilight blue and smoke grey tartan pleated skirt, and yanked down her charcoal tights and panties, exposing her creamy bottom to the chilly air. He’d undone his coal-black jeans and mounted her, biting back his grunts of lust as they fucked with the shameless fervour of beasts in rut. It was the first time he’d brought her to orgasm from his cock alone, and Sansa had tightened around him just as the first gold of day peeped over the horizon. As they’d straightened their clothing afterward, Jon had been fascinated by the contrast of the bright orange pumpkin skin and the thin stream of white trickling down it. As Sansa went to rouse Rickon, Jon abruptly realized where the white stream had come from and hastily opened his water bottle to wash it off. 

Back at his cottage later that day, about to carve the pair of much smaller pumpkins Mollen had saved for him, Jon had a full-body flashback to that dawn coupling as he watched Sansa suck a bit of whipped cream off her thumb. At his groan, Sansa’s eyes turned the same colour of that not-yet-dawn sky, and without a word she bent over the table, presenting to him. Jon once again flipped up her twilight blue and smoke grey tartan pleated skirt, pulled down her charcoal tights and panties, and caressed her creamy bottom with one hand as he unbuttoned his coal black jeans with the other. He plunged inside her with as much abandon as he had eight hours earlier, only this time he didn’t hold back his grunts, and when Sansa came she howled so loudly that Jon was glad he’d left Ghost at Stark Manor.

He remembered the bright scarlet of the Queen’s Grace apples in the Stark Manor orchard, when Jon, Theon, and all the Starklings had gone apple-picking. Arya and Bran soon started a who-can-climb-higher contest, with Robb hovering anxiously beneath first one tree, then the other. Meanwhile Rickon snuggled into a comfortable fork in another tree and munched away on every apple he could reach, tossing the cores at Theon, who refused to do anything but lounge beneath Rickon’s tree and alternatively laugh at Robb and cheer on Arya and Bran, as they moved to other pairs of trees further and further west in rematch after rematch. But Jon and Sansa moved east, away from the chaos, and the scarlet apples bobbed in the wind and the viridian leaves rustled, as Jon knelt at Sansa’s feet, held in place by her crumpled azure jeans, and worshipped her cunt with his mouth. Sansa’s soft sighs blended with the wind, and when she came her juices filled his mouth like the sweetest apple cider. Greedy for more of her pleasure, Jon made her climax again and again, until Sansa weakly pushed him away, sliding down the tawny bark, her coat protecting her exposed bottom from the earth by pure luck. She was wearing the same peacock-blue coat that had framed her bare breasts the first time they’d made love, and the memory made Jon even harder as Sansa beckoned to him, opening her coral lips wide. Jon had no idea why she’d been so uncertain in her oral skills before now; he had to stuff nearly his whole fist into his mouth to keep from hollering Sansa’s name loud enough to knock the scarlet fruit from the branches above them.

He remembered her staying at his cottage for the Harvest fair weekend, and instead of going for all three days they’d stayed in for the second. They hadn’t bothered to dress, shuffling around in pyjamas and sheepskin slippers all day, eating breakfast for all three meals and leftover trick ‘r’ treat chocolates in between. They warmed up the honey-gold mead Jon’s foster father had sent him to have with lunch, and they’d ended up having clumsy, tipsy, giggle-laced sex on the coffee table. In the aftermath, Sansa tugged Jon onto the hunter-green couch, facing the fireplace and the cheery fire burning there. Once he’d picked up his mystery novel, Sansa dragged the large blanket made of the twilight blue, smoke grey and snow white tartan of House Stark over them both, and fell asleep. 

By the time Jon put down his book Sansa had turned toward the fire, tucking herself into the curve of his body. He wasn’t sure whether she was awake or asleep until he felt her slim hand slipping between their bodies to grope his cock, which swiftly hardened in obedience. Jon slid the neckline of her nightgown aside so he could kiss her neck and shoulder, and Sansa whimpered, her grip tightening. Jon felt his slate pyjama pants slipping down his hips and wriggled to help her, as he fondled her breasts tenderly through the sky-blue silk. He wanted to see her bare, to witness the ivory globes and peony pink tips coloured by the gold and red flames dancing in the fireplace; but even with the fire it was too cold to take off the warm wool blanket. As he slid inside her, she was wet and welcoming and warmer than the fire, and he wondered what colour the inside of her cunt was. The gentle crackling of the fire and the patter of rain on the cottage roof and the lemon-and-vanilla scent of Sansa’s skin made him feel he could stay hard for hours if she needed it. Unlike her body’s usual response, Sansa’s climax was gentle, once and twice and thrice, until Sansa sighed his name and Jon sighed hers in return, painting the walls of her cunt with the white of his seed. He didn’t pull out, staying immobile and holding her close while his cock softened enough to slip out involuntarily. Jon simply held Sansa’s left hand in his own, musing what the colour of the betrothal ring he would give her one day should be.


End file.
